


Spider-Man: Far From Home | Movie-to-Novel Adaption

by DemigodOfAgni



Series: Marvel Cinematic Universe | Movie-To-Novel Adaption [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man: Far From Home (2019)
Genre: Basically this whole movie is a psychological horror for teenagers, F/M, Gen, Happy Hogan just being the awkward dude you see talking to your mum, It's a movie-to-novel adaption, It's on Wattpad too, Lots of Whump, May Parker is just the awesome motherly figure we need, Michelle Jones is the ultimate queen, Ned Leeds is the best friend ever, Nick Fury the Angry UncleTM, Peter Parker is a soft child who needs hugs, Quentin Beck can step on a lego but he's so damn fine so whatever, The Elements be destroying crap, but not really, honestly Far From Home is the best Spidey film ever, thanks marvel, the first of many, we miss Tony btw, you cannot convince me otherwise
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-30
Updated: 2019-12-20
Packaged: 2021-01-13 03:29:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21237413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DemigodOfAgni/pseuds/DemigodOfAgni
Summary: Peter Parker's relaxing European vacation takes an unexpected turn when Nick Fury shows up in his hotel room to recruit him for a mission. The world is in danger as four massive elemental creatures - each representing earth, air, water and fire - emerge from a hole torn in the universe. Parker soon finds himself donning the Spider-Man suit to help Fury and fellow superhero Mysterio stop the evil entities from wreaking havoc across the continent.Movie-to-Novel Adaption by DemigodOfAgni[can also NOT be found on Wattpad under the username 'MCUScreenToScript' because Wattpad closed that account]'Spider-Man: Far From Home 2019', characters and plot are all sole properties of Marvel Studios and the Marvel Cinematic Universe.





	1. 0 | Cast and Production

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, it's me, back at it with another Spidey-related work!  
Okay, listen, I have an intense desire to write the MCU films (and consequently, the SUMC films) as novels. 'Far From Home' just so happens to be one of the many I have started, so be sure to check out my _other_ Wattpad account, 'MCUScreenToScript'  
( https://www.wattpad.com/user/MCUScreenToScript )

> ** 0 | Cast and Production **

Marvel Cinematic Universe  
Phase 3, Film 11 | Overall Film 22  
_'Spider-Man: Far From Home'_

Synopsis:

Peter Parker's relaxing European vacation takes an unexpected turn when Nick Fury shows up in his hotel room to recruit him for a mission. The world is in danger as four massive elemental creatures -- each representing earth, air, water and fire -- emerge from a hole torn in the universe. Parker soon finds himself donning the Spider-Man suit to help Fury and fellow superhero Mysterio stop the evil entities from wreaking havoc across the continent.

Main Cast:

_Tom Holland_ as Peter Parker  
_Jake Gyllenhaal _as Quentin Beck  
_Samuel L. Jackson _as Nick Fury  
_Cobie Smulders_as Maria Hill  
__Jon Favreau_ _as Happy Hogan  
__Zendaya_ _as Michelle "MJ" Jones  
_Jacob Batalon _as Ned Leeds  
__Tony Revolori_ _as Flash Thompson  
__Angourie Rice_ _as Betty Brant  
_Marisa Tomei_ as May Parker  
_J. B. Smoove_ as Julius Dell  
_Martin Starr_ as Roger Harrington

Production Cast:

Directed by _Jon Watts_  
Produced by _Kevin Feige _and _Amy Pascal_  
Screenplay by_ Chris McKenna _and _Erik Sommers_

Based on 'Spider-Man' by _Stan Lee_ and _Steve Ditko_

_We will all step up and move on, _  
because that's what they would want us to do.  
_ _ _ _ _~MCUScreenToScript_ _ _ _ _


	2. 1 | A Recap of the Old and New

> **Spider-Man: Far From Home**   
**1 | A Recap of the Old and New**

]|[

Ixtenco was a town that Nick Fury thought was strange and colourful in its own weird way. He thought that with all its Mexican people living there, the place would have been bursting with life and music, especially with what had happened eight months ago.

But, predictably, no, it was not the case.

_Of course_ there was going to be a world-ending crisis landing on S.H.I.E.L.D.'s doorstep, and _of course_ he was going to have to walk outside with his trench coat and cold stare and gun and everything that made him terrifying and stubborn.

So when he saw Ixtenco in ruins, he tried very hard not to torch the rest of the place.

Fury guided his sleek black car slowly through the wreckage, watching everyone with his right eye as they shuffled across the uneven ground. People carried things in their arms, sometimes items, sometimes children, sometimes long-gone loved ones.

Buildings and homes had caved in on themselves, and the church a little further away was crumbling away, a stone slab falling out of place every minute. Power lines were tangled and lay in precarious heaps on the ground. Dense clouds of dust and smoke hung in the air.

Stopping the car, Fury killed the engine before stepping outside, his black trench coat billowing behind him. His partner followed after him, quickly climbing out and slamming the passenger's door shut.

Maria Hill called out to him, 'Nick, this was a tragedy, but it's not why we're here.' She sighed as the two of them trudged over rubble. 'What, are we fighting the weather now?'

The afternoon sun clawed at the back of Fury's neck. 'Locals say the cyclone had a face,' he replied coldly. And, honestly, it was the dumbest thing he had ever heard. He wouldn't be surprised if someone was orchestrating a giant puppet to scare off people, it was just that...he was so damned _annoyed_ at everything.

Annoyed with some galactic threat. Annoyed that he died. Annoyed that he died in 2018, and woke up in 2023 – that's right, _five damn years_ into the future. He missed a lot, and lot was going to shit in those five years.

And now he was back, shoved into a position where he would have to clean up everyone's mess. Oh mother, he was definitely _enjoying_ his work, alright.

The sound of Maria's voice pulled him back from his suffocating thoughts. 'People say things when they're under stress.' She exhaled through her nose, her pale face growing younger as her stoic façade faded for a second.

Fury eyed her, his gaze wandering over her brown hair that was pulled into a small ponytail, and her matching set of black pants and a jacket.

When she opened her eyes again, Maria's blue irises gleamed. 'Okay, that does not mean that this is the start of some other' —she faltered and waved her hands in desperation— 'big world—'

Something fell out of the sky.

Fury didn't know how else to put it, except for, "something landed in front of us, and it's green and misty and it's spreading its shit like it owns the damn place".

But, as said before, something fell out of the sky.

It hit the ground with a _thud_, a wave of green smoke rolling over the ground. On instinct, Fury and Maria reached for their firearms at their hips and flicked out their guns, loading the barrels in seconds.

The smoke began to clear, and a figure stood up.

Fury raised an eyebrow at the figure. In all honesty, it looked like a person trying to recreate the Iron Man armour. The person wore green skin-tight sleeves and leggings, but their shiny texture gave the impression that it was similar to chainmail. A golden breastplate line wit intricate carvings and little glowing blue lights hugged their torso, along with golden gauntlets and boots. A purple cloak hung off their shoulders, clasped to the breastplate with clips that were shaped like the Eye of Providence.

But the most peculiar thing about the costume was the helmet. It was a glass sphere filled with glowing smoke, placed over the head of the person wearing it.

If anything, this armour was definitely a very absurd tribute to Tony Stark. Fury could almost see him turning in his grave.

And then, just like Stark's nanotech, the spherical helmet crawled away and vanished, revealing the head of a man, panting and sweating. He had brown hair that flopped to one side, and a beard. His blue eyes glared hard at Fury and Maria, and the guns that were aimed at him.

Finally, with narrowing eyebrows, the man asked, 'Who are you?'

Before Fury could open his mouth and reply with his signature statement of introduction, an inhuman roar erupted from behind. Both Fury and Maria, sharpened by years of training and the missions they had taken together, turned around and aiming their guns at...

...Fury couldn't really tell what it was.

The rocks and stones on the ground all clumped together, rolling all over each other to form a giant humanoid. It roared and howled, sand pouring from its fist as it took a swing at a nearby building. Fury opened fire, Maria following suit.

Every bullet that was fired from their guns barely did anything to the rock creature. In fact, they only seemed to make it angrier.

Fury heard a faint clanking behind him, and he heard the Fishbowl Man growl out, 'You don't want any part of this.'

Fury cocked his back a little just to see what Fishbowl Man meant, but his mind went blank as the man raised his arms and thrust his hands forward. A bright flash of green light, the thrum of energy, and for the millionth time that day, Fury was sure that his life was never going to be the same again.

To be fair, though, he figured _that_ out eight months ago, so this was more of an existential crisis than fretting over the loss of his sanity.

]|[

Midtown School of Science and Technology was known for its unbelievably smart and talented students. They could recite the first hundred digits of pi, they could identify every atom in a substance, and they could give _names_ to each atom they find (like Bob, Jeff, and Bruce).

But what no one knew was how bad they were at making memoriam videos.

They were so cringey, it made Principal Morita cringe behind his desk.

But nevertheless, this one was the better one out of all the submissions the teachers had gotten, so it couldn't be that bad, right?

Wrong.

Students flocked to every television display mounted on the walls in the school corridors, watching as a series of images flashed over the screens, with 'I Will Always Love You' playing in the background. The photos of Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanoff and Vision were shown one by one, with untimely and terrible transitions before fading into a watermarked picture of candles that were set alight.

Just as the song finished, the video shrunk into a small thumbnail in a corner of the screen, revealing Betty Brant and Jason Ionello of the school's news network.

'_Gone, but not forgotten_,' Betty said, her brown eyes staring sadly at the viewers even though a smile graced her face. Her black vest made her pale features and white shirt pop out, drawing most of the attention towards her.

Jason pointed at the camera and bumped his fist against his chest a couple of times, his black hair bouncing along with the motion. '_Thanks to Kenneth Lim and Vihaan Ramamurthy for their help with that..._touching_ video tribute_,' he said, wincing as he said 'touching'.

In the top right-hand corner, a picture of Kenneth and Fina appeared, showing a boy with pale skin and black hair and a girl with darker skin and braided hair, both smiling widely.

When the image faded, Betty began speaking again. '_This year has been nothing short of—_'

Jason snapped upright, shouting out, '_F—BLEEP! —crazy! Like, it's insane!_'

Betty glared at him. '_Jason_.'

'_What?_'

'_No swearing_.'

Jason sighed, leaning back in his chair. '_Yeah_,' he grumbled, dark eyes downcast. '_It's like the last day of school, we're good_.'

Betty rolled her eyes before facing the viewers again. '_Historic. Over five years ago, half of all life in the universe, including our own Midtown High, was wiped from existence._'

The screen displayed a band performance in the school's gymnasium, which was recorded five years ago. Music blared from beautiful instruments while the rest of the school piled up on the bleachers, cheering and humming along.

But then the music died down. The person recording the band flicked the phone around, filming as people looked down at their hands and crumbled into dust and blew away in an unseen breeze. Heavy instruments clattered to the ground, that wondrous sound of harmony vanishing from them. People were screaming, yelling, either at their best friends vanishing or for the sake of the sudden panic clawing at everyone's stomachs.

The video stopped, before focusing back on Betty and Jason. '_But then_,' Betty started, '_eight months ago, a band of brave heroes brought us back_.'

An image of the Avengers appeared, standing in their heroic glory. Well, their heroic glory was over ten years ago.

This time...their glory had been born from a sea of blood and pain and loss.

The television then switched to another video, where someone else had recorded Midtown's basketball trials eight months ago. The players dribbled the ball around the court – _thud, thud, thud_ – when suddenly people appeared out of nowhere. In the bleachers, by the door. Even the poor band players, who were standing dazedly, fiercely blowing out air into the instruments they thought they were holding in their hands, before getting mowed down or shoved aside by surprised basketball players.

The school's gymnasium was abuzz with chaos and confusion and excitement, but that was only a portion of what was happening in the rest of the school. Or for the world, for that matter. But no one knew what had caused this disappearance-reappearance of people, or why it had happened.

As if on cue, Betty's face came back on screen. '_They called it the Blip_,' she said, referring to said disappearance-reappearance of people. '_Those of us who blipped away came back the same age, but our classmates that didn't blip grew five years older_.'

As an example, the television screen showed two photos of a girl, Sue Lorman, with a goofy smile and long, dirty blonde hair. In the two photos, she looked exactly the same, except for the different shirts she was wearing. She hadn't aged in those five years.

Then the screen showed photos of Brad Davis. In the first photo, he was a small boy with a thin frame and a mop of black hair, wearing a blue sports' singlet and holding a basketball. The second photo showed him five years older, much more buff and taller than before.

Jason sighed once the photos were taken off-screen. '_Yeah, like my little brother is now older than me_.' He pouted, as if the idea of being the younger sibling disgusted him.

Betty's face scrunched up with annoyance. '_Yeah, it's math_,' she snapped. Calming herself down, she said, '_And even though we had blipped away halfway through the school years and had already taken midterms, the school made us start the whole year over from the beginning_.'

'_Totally unfair_,' Jason said, shaking his head. '_It's not right_.'

'_Tigers_,' Betty called out at the viewers – the sound of a roaring tiger was played in response – '_it's been a long, dramatic, somewhat confusing road. As we draw this year to a close, it's time to move on...to a new phase of our lives._'

She flashed a smile, and this time, it wasn't sad. It was hopeful – the look of someone who was willing to start over if it meant the world was ready to right itself from the mess it crawled out from and be better than before. It meant that they all (blipped or aged) received a second chance.

The question was whether they were going to use that chance for good.

'_Pray nothing crazy happens again_,' warned Jason. He clumsily stood up from his seat and waved a hand in the air. '_Because, are the Avengers even a thing anymore? Does anyone even have a plan?!_'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...do you want me to upload some other adaptions here? Or would you rather just head over to my Wattpad page and read them there?  
(ps. my Wattpad account: https://www.wattpad.com/user/MCUScreenToScript )


	3. 2 | A Day in the Life

> ** Spider-Man: Far From Home **   
** 2 | A Day in the Life **

]|[

Peter Parker had a plan.

The first thing he did was walk into art class, sink into the seat next to his best friend, Ned Leeds, place his art diary and pencil case onto the table in front of them both, and say quietly, 'I have a plan.'

Ned – oh sweet, glorious, chubby Ned – nodded his head quickly, straight black hair flapping about, as if he had already heard the plan three thousand times.

Peter enthusiastically continued, saying, 'Okay, first, I'm going to sit with MJ on the flight.'

Ned said, 'Mm-hmm.'

'Second, I'm gonna buy a dual headphone adapter and watch movies with her the whole time,' said Peter. His heart was beating fast at simply the thought of being close with MJ.

Ned said, 'Okay.'

'Three,' Peter continued, 'while we go to Venice...Venice is super famous for making things out of glass, right?'

'True,' answered Ned, eyebrows furrowing in question as to what Peter was going to say next.

'So, I'm gonna buy her a black dahlia necklace, because her favourite flower is the Black Dahlia, because of, well...' Peter trailed off, letting Ned answer for him.

'Ooh! The murder!'

Peter nodded, knowing that everything he had gotten down was going well for now. Because, well, he never was as observant as MJ, but he felt somewhat proud of knowing one of her favourite things.

'The murder,' he agreed. 'Four, when we go to Paris, I'm gonna take her to the top of the Eiffel Tower, give her the necklace...'

'Oh!'

Peter registered Ned's tone of surprise. His best friend, surprisingly, hadn't noticed the great lengths Peter was getting himself into for just giving MJ that necklace.

Like, maybe a bakery, sure, there were sweets everywhere, so giving her the necklace there might be, well, sweet. Or maybe near a river at sunset – movies don't make romantic boating scenes for nothing.

Well, except for Titanic. That was a tragedy. Peter wasn't willing to be part of another miniature boating disaster.

_Well, plenty of other things can go wrong—_

Peter pulled himself back on track as he faced Ned. 'And then five, I'm gonna tell her how I feel...'

His heart took over, screaming out, _I am absolutely head-over-heels for this woman, and I would do anything to be with her, so God help me, please!_

'...and then six, hopefully she tells me she feels the same way,' Peter finished softly, his cheeks warming slightly.

He could picture all of it in his mind – him and MJ, standing up on one of the Eiffel Tower's platforms, their backs pressed against the cool metal frames as they faced the warm, golden, evening sun. Her skin would be tinted honey-brown, and her dark curls would gently wave in the breeze. The fading light would dance in her chocolate-coloured eyes as Peter unfurled his fingers from around the glittering black dahlia necklace in his hand, and he'd hold it up to her so she could see. And then that rare, pretty smile would grace her lips.

The reality was so unbelievably colourful, it made Peter's head spin. It was just...so, so beautiful, it was something he _needed_. Without that reality, then...those past eight months leading up to this school vacation would have been him trying to find some desperate way out of a suffocating, dark, and cold, black hole.

_Ah, wait, Peter, you can't think about the black hole, not just yet—_

His head was still replaying that pristine reality in a loop when Ned said, 'Oh! And don't forget step seven.'

Peter's eyes slowly slid towards his friend in confusion. He eyed Ned, with his brown skin and wide eyes. He wore a maroon jacket over a red and black shirt, which somewhat brightened his face.

'Step seven...?' he said slowly, trying to wrack his brains for an answer. Was there even a step seven? Nevertheless, he flipped open his art diary, selected a pen from his pencil case, clicked it open and was about to scribble in "Step Seven" when Ned spoke up again.

'Don't do any of that,' said Ned.

That reality in his head shattered like glass. This time, Peter was much more alert, not sluggish from such a wonderful dream. He just dropped his pen and stared at Ned with confusion. 'Why?' he asked, sounding like a bratty child, even to himself.

'Because we're gonna be bachelors going to Europe, Peter!' Ned whisper-cried, eyes crinkling with a smile.

Peter blinked and sighed. 'Ned—'

'Look, I may not know much,' Ned interrupted, 'but I do know one thing: Europeans _love_ Americans.'

Peter furrowed his eyebrows and looked at Ned with a doubtful yet suspicious glare. '...Really?' he asked uncertainly.

'And more than half of them are women!' exclaimed Ned excitedly.

Peter shook his head. Honestly, Ned's logic could really reach a negative number at some points.

But then again, he was the same, too, right? Hadn't he done that the first time he went to Germany to fight the Avengers?

A cold space in chest popped into existence, but he ignored it, and just focused on Ned instead.

'Okay. Sure,' he said slowly, indicating that he had taken Ned's point of view into account. 'But...I really like MJ, man, okay? She's awesome, she's smart, she's funny in a kind of dork way, and sometimes I catch her looking at me, and I feel like I've stood up way too fast—'

Honestly, he would have kept on going. He could have kept going until the universe decided to freeze to death, and he would still be going. _That_ was how much he admire MJ – she was strong, unique, unsurprisingly sarcastic in a way that makes you think she didn't give a damn about you, but if you were friends with her long enough, it was her secret way of saying she cared about someone, too. And so—

_Hey, guess what, she's walking up to you, time for you to man-up now—_

'—wait, dude, she's coming now just _don't say anything!_' Peter whispered quickly, his hands flying to close his art diary, even though he had turned to a blank page beforehand.

And then...there she was.

Michelle Jones casually strolled up to them, clutching a large sheet of red paper and wearing the face of a socially dead person. Her curly dark brown hair was tied up in a neat ponytail, with a fringe hanging over the right side of her face. She was dressed in her iconic look – a simple white T-shirt under a black jacket that was buttoned at the top and a pair of dark jeans.

'What's up, dorks?' she asked in an equally socially dead tone. Her scrutinising gaze flickered over Ned and landed on Peter. 'Excited about the science trip?'

Peter felt like he was a deer caught in the headlights (a very wonderful pair of headlights belonging to an even wonderful car that he wouldn't mind getting hit by) and he mimicked a goldfish for a second, popping his mouth open and shut.

When his voice returned, he stuttered out, 'Hey, uh, yeah. We're just...talking about the trip.' He fiddled with his pen, trying to not rouse any suspicion.

Ned smiled in a _I'm not hiding anything_ way. 'Yeah, and Peter's plan.'

Peter refrained from rolling his eyes._ Well, goodbye, unsuspiciousness. It was nice knowing you._

MJ cocked an eyebrow. 'You have a plan?' she asked.

'I don't...I don't have a plan,' Peter said, trying to defend himself from sounding like a sad kid organising his time with nothing to do.

MJ just stared at him. Oh man, that stare was intimidating.

'No, he's just going to collect tiny spoons while we're travelling to other countries,' said Ned. He winked at Peter.

'Like...like a grandmother?' MJ asked.

Peter wanted to throttle Ned and leave him in the closet because he certainly wasn't helping.

'I'm not collecting tiny spoons, he's collecting tiny spoons,' Peter said, pointing at Ned. Thankfully, Ned didn't say anything this time.

'Oh,' MJ said. She glanced at the two of them again. 'Okay, well, that was a real roller coaster.' Her voice hitched up at the end, making it sound like she was trying to stifle a laugh.

Oh boy, Peter had never heard her laugh before. Usually a snarky chuckle, or a sniff, but never a good _laugh_. Then he realised, he was curious to hear what it'd sound like. He _needed_ to hear what it sounded like.

'Mm-hmm,' Peter said in response, looking downward at his pen.

'By the way,' MJ added, 'travel tip: you should probably download a VPN on your phone, just so the government can't track you while we're abroad.' She shrugged in a confident manner.

'Smart,' Peter said, nodding his head. 'Will do...'

MJ smiled for a millisecond before turning away, hoisting her large sheet of paper up a little higher and walking past Peter and Ned. Peter couldn't stop himself from watching her walk away, gracefully and confidently and casually, all at the same time. It was amazing.

The school bell rang. Peter sighed, and Ned groaned with relief. 'Dude,' Ned said, letting out a dry chuckle, 'I think that went really great!'

Despite nearly leaking his plan to win MJ's heart, Peter wasn't as relieved as he thought he'd be. In fact, a small part of his chest seemed withdraw into itself and mind its own business while he just appeared to be empty, disagreeing with everything he saw.

It was a strange feeling, and Peter didn't know how to deal with it.

The first thing Peter saw when he walked out of class was Flash, with his unruly mane of curly black hair and the beginnings of a slight moustache, gingerly picking up small scraps of rubbish from his locker and dropping them on the floor like they were radioactive.

Peter tried stifling his laughter as Ned asked, 'So, what are you going to do on your last day in New York?'

They shuffled through the somewhat crowded hallway, watching other students plunge their hands into the depths of their (possibly filthy) lockers and throwing rubbish into the air as a means of celebration. Peter's Spider-Sense hissed as it tried to warn him that Flash was about to assault with dangerous weaponry, but he ignored it.

'Ooh, I have some errands to run,' Peter said, wincing as his Spider-Sense spiked a millisecond before he felt a broken pencil hit him across the shoulder. He watched it skitter across the floor before continuing his answer, holding up his fingers to check if he remembered what to do. 'I have to get a mini toothpaste, pick up my passport, and then...'

Peter looked around, then leaned closer to Ned and said in a hushed murmur, '...take down the Manfredi crime family.'

Ned's eyes widened. 'Oh,' was all he could manage, but Peter could tell he was slightly surprised at that. Ned obviously knew that by 'take down', Peter meant he was going to don the Spider-Man suit once more and kick ass.

Peter's phone buzzed. Ned looked over Peter's shoulder as he brought out his cracked phone, asking, 'Is everything okay?'

'Yeah,' Peter replied. He flicked off his reminder, quickly swiping to his phone's gallery where he opened up a photo of his checklist, reading through the items to make sure he remembered all the places he was going to head over to soon.

But Ned mistook the action for Peter scrolling some Spider-Man-related news and trying to pinpoint the location of Manfredi mob, and he immediately piped out, 'You need some 'Guy in the Chair' help, or—'

'No, I'm okay,' Peter said, grinning slightly, looking at the very first item on his list:

_1) BUY TRAVEL ADAPTOR & DUAL HEADPHONE ADAPTOR._

Right after school finished, Peter was on his way to _Delmar's Deli and Grill_, home to the one-and-only Mr Delmar with his fantastical sandwiches and travel supplies.

Peter stepped off the subway station near the deli-grocery store, quickly hopping down the steps and swinging to the right. With the brief warm afternoon sun on his back and the slightly smoky air of New York filling his lungs, Peter stepped in the store, the familiar tinkling bells on the door ringing in his arrival.

Peter saluted Mr Delmar a quick, 'Afternoon,' before striding over to the far end of the shop where it kept the travel supplies and equipment. He scanned the shelves before picking out a clunky travel adaptor near some cans of corn oil.

'Are you planning a trip?' asked Mr Delmar.

'Uh, Europe, yeah,' Peter confirmed, looking through small racks for some dual headphone adaptors. They just don't sell those things that often anymore. Well, he'd found plenty of them in garbage piles and old boxed of forgotten tech, but even then they were scrappy beyond repair.

'Oh, can I come?' asked Mr Delmar excitedly, leaning over the glass counter.

Peter shrugged. 'It's a science trip,' he said, turning around and raising his eyebrows at the shop owner. 'The history of science. Tesla, Da Vinci, and all that.'

His hand snagged on a packet, and quickly looked down, hoping that he'd found the headphone adaptors. Sadly, no such luck. Now he was scared he'd have to walk into that nearby Apple store and demand one for himself.

Mr Delmar's face dropped into one of mock disappointment, and he declared, 'I'm good.'

Peter stepped forward to the counter and placed the travel adaptor in front of Mr Delmar. The shop owner cast a quick eye over the object before asking, 'Anything else?'

'Uh...' Peter's eyes darted around for a moment, and his eyes locked on the headphone adaptors sitting right by Mr Delmar's head. And before he knew it, his rusty Spanish tongue croaked out, '_Día no adapturo doublé..._um,_ audio phone?_'

Mr Delmar frowned, a confused and disbelieving expression on his face. '_Qué?_'

'The dual headphone adaptor,' Peter said, pointing at the adaptors, a nervous smile on his face.

Mr Delmar chuckled in amusement, enunciating the correct Spanish for 'the dual headphone adaptor'.

Peter scoffed at the older man. 'That is literally exactly what I said,' Peter said in defence, watching the shop owner lean backwards to pick up the adaptors and scan the items. 'Maybe word for word.'

Mr Delmar cast a knowing look at Peter before chucking the adaptors at him, grumbling out, 'Here.'

Peter passed him a twenty-dollar bill and grabbed the change before hurriedly slipping off his bag and cramming the new items inside it. He retrieved his phone from his pocket, flicked to the image of his to-do list, selected the draw tool and crossed out the first item on the checklist.

Next was:

_2) SELL TOYS, INCLUDING LOBOT._

Peter slid a box of his old action figurines and toys towards the Hawaiian shirt-clad man who owned the junk store downtown. The place was filled with cheap antiques and random devices and gadgets. It made the small part of Peter than constantly went dumpster-diving screech in awe and want to explore the priceless trinkets, but he ultimately knew he couldn't stick around for too long. He still had that crime family to deal with, after all.

The plastic figures in the box still smiled, their plastic paint still shining as if they were new. Peter pushed them a little bit more forward towards the man.

The man stared at the toys, then looked up at Peter, his eyes just over the rim of his glasses. 'You sure about this?' he asked softly.

Peter nodded briskly. 'Yeah,' he said confidently. But he felt his confidence wane a little as he continued. 'I want to buy a girl I like something really nice.'

_Like the necklace_, Peter thought. _The depressing, but beautiful Black Dahlia necklace. MJ's going to love it._

The store owner stared at Peter, then let out a hum of consideration. His white hair stuck out in odd places on the top of his head. 'Well, I hope she's worth it,' the man said finally, wishing Peter some luck. He picked up the pale yellow Lobot figurine and examined it.

Suddenly a childish urge exploded from deep inside Peter's gut. He really liked that toy. He never knew why, he'd only gotten that on his tenth birthday – surely he had grown out of his love for the toy, right?

But nevertheless, he held out his hand as he timidly asked, 'Actually, can I keep the Lobot?'

His chest tingled once his fingers touched the small figurine again, and he kept running a finger over Lobot's head as the shop owner ran scans and determined the value of Peter's other toys. While he waited for the man to give him the equivalent cash for his toys, he took out his phone again, went back to the photo of his checklist and crossed out his second task.

He looked down at the third item on his list:

_3) PICK UP PASSPORT._

The subway trains rumbled overhead as Peter ran across the streets and slipped into the travel agency back near midtown. He stumbled into the small building, hoping that maybe it was too crowded and—

_Yeah, you jinxed it_, Peter thought sourly. _You absolutely jinxed it._

Peter eyed the depressingly long line of people waiting behind the only open clerk window. It was hot and stuffy, even with the fans on, since the white walls multiplied the heat tenfold; needless to say, it didn't help with Peter's impatience. He stood there for a couple of moments, before he realised that if wanted to beat the bad guys later that evening, he'd have to...well, beat the system first.

He glanced up the closest service desk on his right, noting the deep red LED 'CLOSED' sign above the window. Peter then retrieved his phone and his fingers flew across the screen, tapping on an app that he and Ned had created when they took a break from their gargantuan pile of homework.

He pressed the 'Activate' button on the app, and his sensitive ears picked up the faint whirring of a familiar drone's circuits coming to life.

Droney, the small spider drone that came with the Stark Suit, clicked its legs and moved towards the zipper of his bag. The visual feed popped up onto Peter's phone, and he quickly typed in commands that set the drone spurring into motion.

The small drone slipped its legs into the zipper and slid it open. It crawled across his bag towards the right before leaping off with quiet chirps and whistles. It's minute thrusters ignited, and Droney flew silently through the air and landed on the underside of the service desk. It grasped to the material, before quickly crawling over it and ducking beneath the glass barricade separating the outside world from the clerks inside.

Peter commanded it to sneak to the other side of the desk, watching everything on the visual feed. On the side of the desk were two buttons: a red one, and a green one. The red button was glaring angrily, taunting Peter through the visual feed.

Peter typed out new commands, and Droney responded by clicking the green button.

A buzz sounded, and the LED sign changed from the red 'CLOSED' to a bright green 'OPEN'.

Peter avoided many of the sad glances made by other people in front of him, but he flashed them a small smile in return as he twirled around and turned his bag towards the service desk, tapping on his phone. He heard Droney patter across the service desk before propelling itself forward at the last second and slithered back into his bag, drawing the zipper shut.

Once Droney was out of sight and powered down, Peter turned to face the clerk at the now-open service desk. She stared at him in confusion with her glittering black eyes, phone in hand, halfway in swallowing her tuna and lettuce sandwich. The faint sounds of some video echoed from the speakers on her phones.

Peter cleared his throat and leaned forward, the cuffs of his jacket rubbing against the glass partition. 'Uh, hey. Peter Parker here to pick up a passport, please,' he said timidly.

The lady only stared some more, as if she was already mourning the loss of her lunch break. Peter gave her a tight smile as she grumbled something about how the younger generation did whatever it took to get whatever crap they wanted.

Once the clerk vanished into the depths of the travel agency's office, Peter's phone buzzed again, signalling that the ideal time to head out as Spider-Man was due soon. He unlocked his phone, which immediately opened up to his to-do list.

Peter smiled as he used the drawing tool and crossed out the third item, his eyes flitting to the last task on the list:

_4) TAKE DOWN MANFREDI MOB._

It took Peter at least half an hour to track the black-clad Manfredi mob to a closed Italian restaurant. It took Peter five minutes to web all the doors shut without alerting the mob of his presence.

It took less than a minute for Peter's stealth mission to absolutely go off rails.

Because, of course, it just so happened that one of the lights near him shattered because of its overheating filament.

Damn that Parker Luck.

With the nanites trickling and reassembling and holding the frame of his Iron Spider armour together, with its golden highlights glinting like diamonds, Spider-Man dropped from the ceiling, dragging with him two members of the mob who crashed onto the circular glass tables, groans rolling out of their mouths. Spider-Man flicked out his wrists and pressed down on his golden web-shooters and sent streams of his web-fluid spiralling at the thugs, webbing their arms to their sides and temporarily immobilising their guns.

Spider-Man gracefully landed on a table covered by a white tablecloth, his feet clinging to the silky material. 'Let's keep it moving, guys!' he called out. 'I got a lot to do today.'

His sixth sense reached out behind him and to his right, and Peter barely had to look at where he was aiming. He shot a web behind him where he knew another man stood with his gun raised, webbing the gun to his arms and stiffening his movements. Then Peter raised a hand, muttering out a quick change of setting in his web-shooters, and fired a web grenade at the gunner to his right. The small clump of webbing burst upon impact with the man's gun, spraying out tendrils of synthetic silk and webbing him to the pristine-patterned walls.

Guns spluttered and burst with energy. Bullets shrieked and sliced through the air. Spider-Man leapt up and effortlessly dodged each one, twisting his arms and legs as he flipped through the air and bounced off objects with superhuman grace. He spun webs over the faces of countless mob members, before he fired a small cluster of webbing at the ceiling.

The webbing exploded on contact, snatching up an unsuspecting trio of thugs and yanking them off their feet and suspending them in the air. Peter flipped backwards onto a table and sat on the teetering edge as he tried to steady himself. Huh, it would be _weird_ if suddenly his tush became adhesive like his fingers and toes and—

_Nope, Peter, get your head out of the gutter._

Suddenly, it became quiet, aside from the creaking furniture and the groaning mob members. Peter let out a sigh of relief, knowing that the Manfredi crime family would be better off in a jail cell than meeting up in fancy Italian restaurants.

The base of his skull prickled.

'Alright,' Peter said in bratty tone, shuffling in his precarious position, 'I'm gonna give this place a one star.'

Spider-Man turned to face the last gunner, who aimed and fired at him.

_BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!_

'_Aah!_' Peter screamed, flailing his arms and legs as the bullets drove home into him. He toppled backwards off the table, landing on the ground with a thud.

The thug's hands flew across the gun, trying to reload it, when—

'I'm just kidding!' Spider-Man cried out gleefully. He popped up from behind the table, completely unscathed, his metallic suit glittering in the flickering chandelier light. 'It's bulletproof.'

_Thank God for nanotechnology_, Peter thought.

He fired twin strands of webbing at two columns either side of him, pulled back and launched himself forward feet-first, kicking the gunner in the chest and sending him sprawling. Spider-Man leapt up, twirling in midair and sticking a three-point landing behind the front counter where he was suddenly face-to-face with a waiter.

Well, he looked like a waiter, until he, well, wasn't.

Peter quickly webbed the man's foot, sending him tripping and falling to the floor. He shot a second web to the ceiling, plastered the two ends of the webbing together until it resembled a long rope, and Peter hauled the man upward and left him dangling upside down.

Just when he thought it was over, more men burst from the door connecting the restaurant's lobby to the kitchen, raising their fists and wielding pepper grinders. They lunged at Spider-Man, throwing their fists at him, but he easily evaded their punches.

'Guys, guys, I just wanted dressing on the side!' Peter screamed out. He shot out his hand and yanked the pepper grinder out of one man's grip and kicked two of the men to the floor, asking, 'Fresh-ground pepper, anyone?'

The Manfredi didn't appreciate the pepper. Maybe they were just salty, but Peter couldn't be too sure. He dodged a few fists and threw the grinder at one of them.

Just then, some of the thugs began swinging knives at him, but Peter's suit had already anticipated it.

The suit wasn't programmed to tune into Peter's somewhat precognitive sense, but it was intuitive enough for its minute sensors to notice the blades in the thugs' hands.

Almost immediately, a small clump of nanites positioned themselves in between Peter's shoulder blades, and the four spider-like waldoes popped out of the housing compartment on Peter's back. They reached outward, slamming into the men in response to Peter's whirling thoughts. Peter webbed up the winded mob members as the waldoes continued catching the men off-guard. At one point, Peter turned around to see a thug barrelling towards him with a knife, and the mechanical limbs curled towards Peter's frontside and deflected the blade.

'That's it,' Spider-Man grumbled, crossing his arms as the waldoes shoved the man away. 'I'm _definitely_ not giving you a twenty-percent discount.' He winked humorously, the shutters of the left eye lens of his mask contracting slightly to replicate the gesture.

The waldo hovering over Peter's right shoulder suddenly twitched, then stabbed backwards, the razor-sharp tarsus smoothly piercing into the blood-red fire extinguisher that one of the thugs was about to use to knock Peter out. The extinguisher burst and hissed, white foam and gas spurting out from the hole the waldo had made.

Peter leaned forward, the limb that was holding the extinguisher slamming into the thug, before throwing it at a few other mob members running at him from up front. The extinguisher careened into them, sending them flying backwards.

After waiting for a few moments and seeing that all the members of the Manfredi mob were webbed down, Spider-Man puffed out his chest and walked through the wreckage, swatting away the foam from the hissing extinguisher, which was being gently pulled off the waldo with assistance from the other three mechanical limbs.

Peter felt the waldoes collapse against his back and the nanites smooth themselves along his armour as he strode through the destruction. There were smoking holes and scorch marks littered along the walls and ceilings. Glass shards crunched under his feet, and the smell of burnt food hung in the air.

Peter turned his head and, upon seeing the leaking fish tank in which water gushed out of a crack in the case, webbed the glass to stop the water from flowing anymore. Hooray, he had saved the fish. Good thing he watched the demo of _Detroit: Become Human_ on YouTube.

Realising that he had to wait for a while until the police showed up, Spider-Man attempted to make conversation with the Manfredi, try to pry out some other dirty secrets.

The mob didn't answer, because their mouths were webbed shut.

Ten minutes later, Spider-Man introduced the three police officers to the webbed-up mob members, stating their position within the crime family. 'Yeah, so he's the first in command,' Spider-Man said, pointing at one man suspended in the air. 'He's pretty much just a runner,' he said, pointing at another guy down at the back. 'And then that's the buyer, that's the seller, and that's the snitch.'

The man he pointed to last, an Indian guy with a mop of black hair stuck to the side of a pillar, frowned. 'Hey!' he said indignantly.

'I'm sorry,' Peter said. 'He's not—' He faltered, then leaned towards the large police officer beside him, murmuring, 'You should probably put him in his own cell.'

The officer mumbled an agreement, the faint lighting making his dark skin look like the colour of spruce wood. He tilted his head, the medallion on his black police cap glinting.

'So, keeping the fancy suit?' asked the woman behind Peter. She was just a little shorter than him, but her brown eyes held the confidence that Peter could never achieve.

Peter's skin prickled with unease at the question, though he didn't know why. 'Uh—'

The large, chubby man asked, 'You gonna be the next Iron Man now?'

Peter's insides froze. His breath hitched, and his gut twisted. Something was at the back of his mind, caged off in the corner, but now it was scratching at his consciousness, pleading and screaming, _Don't say his name! He could—_

But Peter didn't flinch. He didn't do anything.

He was Spider-Man.

Not Peter Parker. Not here, not now.

So all Spider-Man did was open his mouth, huffed out a slightly husky breath, and said in the most innocent voice possible, 'Well, no, I don't have time. I'm too busy doing your job.'

The three officers around him let out 'Oohh's at Spider-Man's snide comment towards the police, but they did it purely out of jest, as did Spider-Man.

'I'm kidding! I'm kidding!' Spider-Man defended humorously, watching the chubby officer's face morph into one of disappointment.

Suddenly, the Iron Spider's head-up display lit up, notifying Peter of the text Aunt May had sent a couple of minutes ago. It said it was time to go. Bummer, he was enjoying his time with the police, trading banter with them easily like they were playing a game of catch with a super-powerful object.

_Peter, no, listen—_

Spider-Mn shrugged, squeezing between the officers and towards the door to the exit (the webbing that he used to block it had already dissolved), encouragingly saying, 'Look, you're gonna have to do your jobs for a couple of week because _I_ am going on _vacation!_'

Peter raised his hands to emphasise that yes, he, the amazing Spider-Man, was actually taking a break.

The officers gave him expressions that were mixed between grimaces and smiles. The chubby officer spoke up, demanding, 'Yeah, but could I still get that selfie?'

Peter winced. Right, he forgot about that selfie. Embarrassed, he called out, 'Next time,' before pushing the door open and striding out into the dark, wet streets of Upper Manhattan.

Peter took a running start along the road, cars whizzing past him with their headlights blazing. Peter then jumped and raised his hand to the heavens above, pressing down on the sensitive lever in his palm. The web shot out, securing tightly to something far off into the darkness, and then his momentum pushed him forward, and he was suddenly flying, flying, flying—

He swung through the city, holding onto thin strands of silk, a weight curling around his shoulders.

Peter didn't like that weight, whatever it meant.


	4. 3 | Don't Make Me Feel Mushy

> **Spider-Man: Far From Home**   
**3 | Don't Make Me Feel Mushy**

]|[

'When I first blipped back to my apartment, the family living there was very confused. The wife thought that I was a mistress. The grandma thought that I was a ghost!'

People laughed as they stared up at May Parker, who stood in the centre of an elevated stage in the Homeless Support building she had put together in the span of four months. The lights were dim and orange, except for the glaring spotlights that were trained on her. Banners and posters hung from the walls, and hundreds of people – both reporters and residents – were gathered in front, listening, enraptured, by the tale May was telling them.

All the while she chattered, Peter stood somewhat uncomfortably next to her. No, not as Peter Parker, her nephew, but still clad in his nanotech suit, he was attending the evening's presentation as Spider-Man; either as the Homeless Support's mascot or as an honourary guest, Peter couldn't really tell. It was why he had to leave the Italian restaurant with the Manfredi mob and the police officers so soon.

Peter stood stiffly a little behind May's right, fingers twitching. He kept watch of the heart-monitor lingering in the corner of his heads-up display.

'It was—' May chuckled at the memory of returning to their apartment, before continuing, 'It was really a mess. Thank you all for coming out to support those who were misplaced by the Blip, and, of course, thank you, Spider-Man!'

The sudden roar of applause snapped Peter out of his trance. He looked at the people, who in turn were staring up at him with smiles on their faces, and he waved at everyone. Peter looked at May, who stepped back and gestured to the microphone that was waiting in the spotlight, unattended.

_Oh, it's my turn_, Peter thought dimly, stepping forward.

To be honest, Peter was horrible at speeches. He kept stuttering and repeating words halfway through sentences; it was a miracle how he'd manage to get full marks in his English speeches. Peter was usually the one who flicked through the Powerpoint presentation while Ned held the palm cards and spoke about their projects.

But he wasn't Peter preparing for an English assessment. He was Spider-Man standing in front of a group of people who had been erased from existence and then brought back. He had to be giving _hope_ to them, to tell them that everything was alright, is alright, will be alright.

'Thank you, Ms. Parker, for having me,' Spider-Man said stupidly. 'And thank you guys for having me.'

Unsure of how to conclude his "speech", Spider-Man gave the silent crowd a thumbs-up.

The crowd was still silent, save for a few random cheers and claps, as he backed away and let May take the microphone back. 'Thank you, Spider-Man,' she said, then turning to the audience, 'He'll be right back out to take photos and videos! Thank you!'

People clapped and cheered as both Spider-Man and May waved before disappearing behind the black curtain that was set at the back of the stage. They passed through another pair of curtains before they emerged on the other side in the lobby, in the cool lighting of a few white lights and the quiet hum of the air-conditioners.

Peter let the mask of the Iron Spider suit crawl away from his face and he welcomed the cool air as he turned towards his aunt. They both high-fived as May let out sounds of happiness. 'That was amazing!' said Peter.

'That was great!' May agreed, sighing excitedly.

'Ah, that was so cool! I was a little nervous.'

'My body was a little stiff, I felt like I wasn't in the pocket.'

'No, I thought you did great!'

May frowned at Peter. 'Yeah, well, actually, I did think you were a little stiff.'

Peter shrugged nonchalantly, but her words were a little cold, even though she didn't entirely mean them. 'I felt that, too,' he said sheepishly. 'I felt that, too.'

'It's fine, it's fine, it's fine,' May said, trying to comfort him. May looked extremely pretty tonight, with her reddish-brown hair hanging down her back like a curtain, framing the black loose beach maxi dress she wore. The dress was slim on her slender frame, embroidered with green threads and little sequins.

May's brown eyes sparkled as she stood in front of Peter, quickly moving on to the next topic without warning. 'Did you get your passport?'

'Yeah,' replied Peter, thinking of all the errands he'd run earlier in the afternoon.

'Mini toothpaste?'

'Yeah.'

There was clatter of noise to Peter's left, and his nerves jumped. He raised his fists and turned to the door that was being shoved open, the nanites in his suit responding to his hyperactivity by quickly forming his mask around his head. The lenses immediately focused on the door, and with his heart thumping, Peter waited, waited for the enemy to pass through—

Happy Hogan was panting as he tried to get through the door, a large cardboard sign in his hands. He was dressed in a crisp black suit, and his hair was greying since the last time Peter had seen him. When Happy finally got through the door after a string of almost inaudible curses (_almost _inaudible – last time Peter had checked, he still had enhanced hearing) he looked at the two Parkers and mumbled, 'Hey! Sorry I'm late.'

Peter's anxiety crawled back down, and so did his mask. Peter let out an inaudible sigh of relief as he stared at the older man and called, 'Happy, hey!'

Happy barely nodded at him as he turned to May. There was a glint in his eye that Peter couldn't exactly place. 'Oh, you look lovely,' Happy said.

'Thanks, you too,' May replied with a huge smile on her face.

'Thanks. New dress?'

'Uh, yeah,' May said, looking down at her outfit. 'Yes, it is.' She looked up and focused on Happy's face. 'That's a new beard.'

And indeed, Happy had grown a greying Van Dyke beard, with facial hair puffing up slightly at his chin. It looked like he'd grown fond of it, but maybe if he trimmed the sides a little and goatee a little around the moustache then maybe it would look like—

_Stop_, Peter thought harshly.

'It's my Blip Beard,' Happy said proudly, pointing to his facial hair. 'Because I grew it in the Blip.' He glanced at Peter, and smirked. 'Blip Beard.'

Peter only narrowed his eyes in confusion. Something was happening between Happy and May, he could literally smell the pheromones filling the air as they both traded compliments.

May looked like she was holding in a laugh. 'I see,' she said.

'Anyway,' Happy said, shifting his weight, 'the reason why I was late was because this was misplaced.' He lifted the cardboard sheet in his hands, and Peter got a better look at it. He realised that it wasn't just some random cardboard, but a giant cheque – a large white sheet given to them by Synchrony Bank. And how much money did they— holy cow. The bank gave them _$500,000_?

Half a million dollars? Unbelievably _insane_.

Peter looked at the cheque again, drinking in its white and gold simplicity before his eyes landed on the signature.

Pepper Potts.

The CEO signed and gave them half a million dollars.

A sad emotion rattled inside Peter's chest, and he instead tried to focus on Happy's rambling.

'Can you believe it?' Happy asked, still complaining about how he'd lost the cheque. 'Because it's enormous. Not the amount, the size.' Happy paused, frowning before smiling weirdly as he handed the cheque to May. 'The amount _and _the size.'

'Oh, thank you,' May said, gazing the large thin cheque in her hands.

'The very generous Pepper Potts said she's sorry she couldn't be here,' Happy said, a sort of sadness lingering in his voice, as if he was genuinely sad that Pepper couldn't make it.

Peter still stared between them both. The air was thick with their...talk. Talk? Peter couldn't even call it "talk", they were outright _flirting_. In front of _him_. _They were flirting_.

May was smiling at Happy, as if they were sharing an inside joke that Peter had missed out on. 'I think I'm going to go change the Sterno under the vegan lasagne,' she said finally as her closing line in their conversation. She turned to Peter, and he saw it.

He saw the happiness sparking in her eyes. The only kind of happiness that appeared whenever May was around the people she loved like family.

'Spider-Man,' she said, 'go shake hands.'

Peter saluted, mumbling a 'Will do' as May disappeared behind the curtains to head towards the Homeless Support's kitchen. Once Peter was sure May was out earshot, he turned to Happy. 'What just happened?' he demanded, curious.

Happy, instead of answering his question, replied with, 'Heads up, Nick Fury is calling.'

The utter confusion that suddenly erupted in Peter's made him frown. 'Nick Fury's going to call _me_?' he asked, voice small and eyes wide. Because _no_, this wasn't happening.

Sure, he never really meat with Nick Fury – maybe a glimpse of his face on the news or in some news report, his words quoted in newspapers, general stuff like that. But he'd heard all the stories – that man was downright scary. He was vague, he was cynical, and he always wanted something to go his way. So to have him, the leader of the formerly secret S.H.I.E.L.D., calling _him _of all people...it sounded terrifying. Like he was caught snooping around in Fury's office and now he was going to have to pay the consequences.

'Yeah,' said Happy.

'Why?' demanded Peter, sounding like a petulant child.

'Why? Because he probably has some hero stuff for you to do,' answered Happy. 'You're a superhero. He calls superheroes.'

'Well, I mean if it was really that important, he probably call someone else,' Peter defended, backing up a little. 'Not me.'

Almost immediately after he finishes his sentence, something behind him buzzed. Peter turned around and his eyes landed on his school bag resting on one of the chairs, plopped carelessly in the seat. And the buzzing was coming from inside.

'Apparently not,' Happy said somewhat smugly.

Peter stepped up to his bag and plunged his hands into it, groping around for his phone. When he found it, he pulled it out and stared at the screen that was lit up, the phone shaking violently in his hand. Someone was calling him, the name _Unknown_ blazing white at the top.

'No Caller ID. That's him,' Happy confirmed, pointing to the name.

Peter inhaled sharply, and he looked up at Happy. 'I don't really want to talk to Nick Fury,' he protested.

'Answer the phone,' Happy told him.

'Why?' Peter repeated, sounding even more childish. He didn't care if he sounded like a two-year-old – he didn't want to talk to that eye-patch man.

'Because if you don't talk to him, then I have to talk to him, and I don't want to talk to him,' Happy admitted, a cross between nervousness and annoyance etched on his face.

'Why don't you want to talk him?'

'Because I'm scared— _just answer the phone!_' Happy blurted at him, shoving the phone in Peter's hand closer to his chest.

But Peter had had enough. He was _not_ going to be dragged into something else at a time like this. He didn't need to be out there doing some world-saving business. He was fine with staying in Queens, in New York, helping the little guy.

After what he'd been through...New York seemed like just the right place for him.

Almost defiantly, he raised his phone up so Happy could get a clear view of it, and Peter declined the call. The buzzing stopped, and Happy stared at him.

'You sent Nick Fury to voicemail?' Happy murmured, horror written on every crease in his face.

'Yeah,' Peter said, slipping his phone back into his bag.

'You don't send Nick Fury to voicemail!' Happy started, trying to get Peter to redial. But no, _no_ – Happy was not going to start guilt-tripping Peter right now. No, Peter had to leave, he had to get out, he had to get Nick Fury off his back if the man had already started _calling him_.

'D'you hear that?' Peter asked, pointing to the curtains behind him, and to the waiting crowd on the other side. 'It's— they're calling me. I gotta go, I gotta go.'

Peter was already backing away when Happy cried, 'You got to talk to him!'

'I'm going to call him, I promise you, I'm going to call him. I will,' Peter said, clasping his hands together to get Happy to stop talking about Nick Fury. He had to leave.

In response to his thoughts, the Iron Spider's nanites trickled onto each of his shoulder blades and two waldoes unfolded into existence. They swerved behind him, the tarsi hooking to the edges of the first pair of curtains and pulling them open with numerous _click, click, click_s.

'You _do not_ ghost Nick Fury!' Happy almost yelled, pumping his fist up and down to emphasise that whatever Peter had done was equal to eleven life sentences in prison.

'I promise you, I'll call him,' promised Peter, the waldoes drawing the curtains shut and blocking off Happy's demented and horrified face. When Happy was out of view, Peter sighed and let his shoulders sag a little, and whispered to himself, '_After _my trip.'

Because right now, Peter wanted nothing more than to be with the people he liked. His friends. To just sit back and enjoy the world in the same eyes of his friends. He _wanted_ to not be different for a bit, to just experience everything like everyone else.

Months— _years _ago, the prospect of Peter taking a break from Spider-Man would have been horrifying. So many people would have gotten lost, or hurt, or killed, or kidnapped, or...or worse, if Spider-Man hadn't been there to save them.

But now...now things have been better. The cops were playing nice and they had upped their game so now they worked alongside Spider-Man instead of arriving after the hero had left. The police could handle things while Peter was gone – they can, they will.

And Peter...he really needed this break. He just needed it.

With somewhat of his vigour returned, Peter straightened and the nanites surged up to form his mask again. Peter turned to the last pair of curtains, light slipping through the gaps like knives. Peter jumped through, waving at the people who were beginning to edge even closer to the stage to catch a glimpse of Spider-Man.

Around him, reporters and cameramen pushed each other around to get the chance Spider-Man their burning questions. They were yelling atop of one another, words indistinct, and Peter had to hold up a hand and back away as he called out, 'Okay, one question at a time!'

Just to get everything rolling, Peter pointed at the first person he saw – an Asian woman with thin black eyes and a pretty bob cut. She yelled out something, but her voice was lost to the constant shouting. But once everyone saw that the lady was chosen, they all went silent as they tried to listen to her question, camera's flashing and tapes rolling.

'Are you the head Avenger now?' the woman asked.

Right. Ever since Thanos happened, the Avengers had gone quiet. There weren't any superheroes in sight as the world tried to recover from the tragedy. And with Thanos gone, there should have been more safety precautions, right?

Apparently not.

Now, there was only one enhanced person out there trying to help everyone get back into the swing of things: Spider-Man. Not even Hawkeye, or Ant-Man, or Dr. Strange. It was all Peter – _he _was the only one trying to help keep his world, New York, in some sort of balance.

All of this ran through Peter's head for a few seconds before he replied with, 'Uh, no, I'm not.'

The shouting started again, and Peter pointed at an Indian woman who was trying to push the crowding photographers away from her. 'If the aliens come back, what are you gonna do?'

Something tight was wriggling around Peter's ribs. Obviously, he had no idea what he was going to do if the Outriders or the Chitauri or even his great-great-great alien uncle popped up. Maybe punch them, throw a few puns, but he'd last only seconds on the battleground.

'Does anyone have any neighbourhood questions?' Spider-Man asked desperately, ignoring the woman's questions and instead focusing on someone else in the screaming, desperate crowd.

He pointed at a man, and Peter hoped that this was a neighbourhood question, something he could handle – _something in his little grey area that he operated in_.

'Sean Wilford, _Queens Tribune_,' the man, Sean, introduced, holding up a microphone as he stared directly at Spider-Man. Right through the lenses. At Peter. 'What is it like to take over from Tony Stark? Those are some big shoes to fill.'

_Those are some big shoes to fill_.

Peter was suddenly underwater, all the sounds around him becoming nothing but muffled noises. His movements were sluggish, his head pounded, his breathing hitched, and there was ringing in his ears like some poor creature was being pulled to shreds right next to him. There was an invisible python, slithering in between his ribs and squeezing his organs.

_Big shoes to fill_.

Peter could feel a phantom touch on the nape of his neck, the same way Tony Stark squeezed him with pride whenever Peter did something impressive. The same way Tony Stark admired Peter. The same way Tony Stark...loved...Peter.

Peter was Tony's legacy. The future, Tony had promised.

The future crumbled when Tony wasn't there to help him fulfil it.

Dimly, he caught sight of the frantic flashing red in his HUD. The heart monitor glared at him. A pop-up read: _117BPM. Anxiety attack imminent_.

'_Peter?_' That was Karen's voice. He had her reconfigured into the Iron Spider suit a while back, to help assist with most of his patrolling, or as someone Peter could talk to when...

'_Peter_,' said Karen again. '_I suggest you leave the Homeless Support building. Please_.'

He couldn't argue with her.

Since, after all, every breath seemed to be sucked out of him.

Peter backed away from the reporters, feeling light-headed, as if the Iron Spider armour wasn't filtering his air properly. Stars blinked in and out of existence, but he wasn't sure if they were really stars or if they were just flashes of cameras trying to capture his dwindling sanity.

He needed to leave, he had to go, he can't be in front of desperate people like this, he would only make everything worse, oh God—

The ringing in his ears turned to screaming as all the sounds in the room suddenly rushed back in, filling the emptiness in his hearing. His skin prickled, and his eyes watered as the flashes from cameras suddenly became too bright to look at. His heart was thudding even faster, the pop-up in his HUD reading out his ever-quickening heart rate.

'Im'ma,' Spider-Man said thickly, swallowing, trying to make his words clear despite the panicked slur in his tone. 'I'm going to go, thanks so much, everyone, for coming.'

He didn't wait.

He didn't wait.

He _couldn't_ wait.

Peter leapt up, arms outstretched. He could hear people mumbling in confusion as he latched to the ceiling, kicking open the slightly-ajar windows. His breathing never slowed as he pulled himself on the roof and scrambled across the tiles, reaching the skylight window that led directly down into the room Peter had last seen Happy.

Yanking it open, Peter dropped in and grabbed all of his things – his bag, spare change of clothes tucked inside, and his phone. Once he grabbed everything, he crawled back up through the skylight, feeling like everything he touched was suddenly burning, crumbling away.

_Stop, stop, stop, breathe_, he thought. _Breathe, in, out, in, out—_

Before Peter knew it, he had flung out a web and was swinging himself to the shadowed corner of the corner. He flipped, feet swiftly landing on the concrete, and he sunk to his knees, dropping his bag and letting the mask slither off his face. The cool night air hit his face, and the darkness from where he perched seemed to hold him in some strange embrace. Around him where the sounds of life – a train rumbled past, and cars swerving on and off the streets, headlights blinking.

Peter sat like that for a while, gulping in air in one deep breath, before he blew it out softly again.

He couldn't do that. He couldn't do that again, not in front of the people. He was supposed to be strong, their anchor, someone to vent at, someone to spill secrets, someone to just sit next to. That was who Spider-Man is supposed to be; not some teenager who crumbled at the sight of everything he had lost.

The people were more important than him. He had to give them his undivided attention, because Peter was just one person who might be suffering, but there were a million others who suffered, too.

It was almost obvious to what he might choose – one life, or millions of others?

Peter's phone buzzed again. He fished it out of his bag, and glanced at the ID. It was _Unknown_ again. Nick Fury.

Peter wanted him to fall into a pit of snakes because _no_, shut the hell up, Nick Fury.

He aggressively declined the call as he shoved his phone back into his bag, letting the momentary wave of anger wash over him only to be replaced by a sad calmness. He could feel his heart slowing down, resuming to its normal pace as he gazed at the moving headlights beneath him, and the calm whispers as the wind twirled around him.

The corner of his eye picked up a bright splash of colour to his right. Peter turned to look at it, and he let out a wobbly breath.

Painted on the wall of the building next to the Homeless Support building was a mural, where someone had graffitied beautiful colours and lines. They formed an image of Iron Man, with his repulsor gauntlet raised as he seemed to almost fly out of the brick wall. Behind him was a supernova of colour, like everything he'd done was for the good of everything and he deserved the entire spectrum.

Which, Peter knew, he truly _did_ deserve.

In fact, Tony deserved more than an entire spectrum. He deserved the world, he deserved his family. He deserved his life.

Peter could feel prickling in his eyes as he felt tears start brimming. He turned away from the colourful masterpiece, the emptiness that erupted in his chest a little unbearable. He looked up at the stars, which at this point, were invisible because of the halo New York City threw at the sky.

He wanted to see the stars.

But...not alone. He wanted to see the stars with someone else with him.

A honk from the train tracks was when Peter made up his mind. Another train rumbled past when Peter had masked himself again. The train had disappeared through the tunnel just as Peter swung himself, backpack strapped to his back, back to Queens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Writing _Far From Home_ is my way of expressing my own sadness so excuse me if I write in some unnecessary whump or something, haaaa


End file.
